Man only pretends to grow
Because the world wants him to grow.
Deep inside, he remains the child,
Which only a compassionate heart
Can comprehend its real meaning.
Very often, he conjures up memories
Of those childhood days, for, explorer of
A humanity beyond and below
The reigning civilization, he loves
The closely-knit fabric of past,
Present and future,however unimaginable.
Most men are not prepared to lose their souls
To gain the world, for the world as it is
Is not worth suffering for,
A worthless mess of potage.
Those who have grown understand it not
And those who haven’t do so.
When life becomes a comedy of errors
Or a tragedy of terrors,
They seek refuge in that secret niche
Where a tango changes into a polka
And a polka into a vodka
Under a sky simple and yet sublime.
Let time slip away from your fingers,
Gently and smoothly and yet, lose not
That child in your heart.
The early mariners who crossed
The terrific waters always thought
Of the beautiful lullabies their
Mothers had once sung to them softly.
Being the child creates magic in miracles
And miracles in the magic of life.